


Kisses Are a Better Fate

by maximusia



Category: Marco Polo (TV)
Genre: Intercrural Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 02:50:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3273974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maximusia/pseuds/maximusia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jingim goes looking for some answers from Marco after he comes back from the "Hashshashin" mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kisses Are a Better Fate

**Author's Note:**

> Uhm, so let's give this a try. Not beta'ed or anything. Set in the beginning of "White Moon" before Jingim makes his rounds complaining about Marco. I make mention of Marco being like a flower (thank you Khutulun), which I swear anyone could see when they look at him, and I mention Marco being Jingim's curse, although that reference doesn't pop up until three episodes later.
> 
> Also, title taken from e. e. cummings because I couldn't think of anything else.

The Latin comes back from his mission in the desert acting unusual and it makes Jingim all the more on edge.

Byamba and Marco keep close together when they ride in, and immediately go to talk to the Khan in private. Jingim hears about this too late and finds himself barred from the room. Rejection makes his stomach sour. Why wouldn’t Jingim be in attendance? What had happened during Byamba and Marco’s search? He sent them on this mission, why won’t anyone _tell_ him? It adds fuel to the fire of Jingim’s doubts about Marco.

Jingim waits in the Latin’s quarters for him to return. He contemplates demanding answers from his father, from Byamba, but why not Marco himself? The Latin has to come back to his home at some point.

Jingim shifts through the papers on the desk without hesitation. The scribbled writings seem to hold no importance, practiced characters and pieces of prose, but it’s a drawing of a tree that Jingim finds himself stuck staring at, trying to place the familiar stretch of branches, when he hears the Latin’s footsteps coming up to the house.

Jingim steps back to the center of the room, standing at noble attention when Marco comes through the door. The look on Marco’s face when he sees someone already standing there is enjoyable: his eyes widen, mouth opens a little, and his sword comes out in a promising show of reflexes, but the look when he realizes _who_ is in his room and on _who_ he has drawn his weapon is even better.

He wants to laugh. It's childish, but Marco makes him this way.

“Prince,” Marco says, sheathing his sword and giving a polite bow. He throws a glance around as if searching for guards or other dangers besides Jingim.

“We’re not to fight, Latin,” Jingim replies. “Unless that is what you want.”

A frown darkens Marco’s face. He makes a point of freeing the sword from his sash and setting it away on the desk. “Forgive my apprehension.”

“Is it apprehension or just an unwillingness to talk to me? Your words come so generously and yet you’ve give me none.”

“What words do you want, Prince?”

Jingim will never tire of the mounting fear in Marco’s eyes when it’s inspired by _him_. Marco should be scared, as worried of his place with Jingim as with Kublai.

“I sent you on the mission. I sent you after my father’s would-be assassin. Those are the words I want, Polo.”

“Your father has heard my report.” The Latin shrinks and blossoms like a flower, with words for thorns that drip a subtle poison. “Has he not given it to you, my prince?” There must be something on Jingim’s face, because Marco follows quickly with, “I am not done with my inquiries. When I have learned more, I am sure the Khan will relay.” He pauses with a small, but distracting enough for Jingim, swipe of his tongue across his bottom lip. “I leave with Byamba soon to continue my search.”

“But I’m the one left with _silence_ ,” Jingim says. As he moves forward, Marco leans away until he takes a step back and then seems to steel himself. Jingim gets in close to say, “No more lies, Polo. No more silence.”

“I do not lie to you, prince. I merely wait. I wish to bring all the truth.” Marco’s eyes rove over his face before meeting Jingim’s gaze again. “If I may, I would like to thank you.”

“ _Thank_ me?” Jingim asks incredulously. He doesn’t like the way it warms him, an _appreciation_ from Marco that is surely only meant to charm.

“You stayed the punishment of my father and uncle,” Marco says. “You did not care, I know, but I still thank you, Prince Jingim.”

“That matter is settled anyway, I hear.” It’s embarrassing, how quickly Jingim’s anger has turned to curiosity. “My father did not take their lives, but instead gave a thieves brand.”

“The Khan is infinitely wise and kind,” Marco says, “As is his son.” There; another movement of his tongue, this time just peeking out before it’s hidden again.

There’s a tension between them that isn’t just from Jingim’s fears. Instead, it’s a want for Marco to rise to Jingim’s challenges even though Jingim hates it the next moment, a need to have that infernal, sweet mouth.

He reaches up, slow and purposeful, letting Marco watch the movement and giving him time to react. Marco freezes in place while Jingim ghosts over the bolt of his jaw, curls fingers over the vulnerable curve of neck to hook behind Marco’s head. Jingim brings him in for a kiss and Marco opens up beautifully, tongue darting out to taste.

Jingim can feel the drumming of Marco’s pulse against his fingers and thinks it matches the beat in his own chest. When Jingim leans back to look at Marco’s face, he finds equal parts excitement and fear, and he must kiss Marco again and again.

Clothes get pulled off. By the time skin has met skin, Jingim has Marco backed up into the alcove with the bed. He keeps with insistent kisses and touch, until they’re lying down on the mattress with Jingim on top, cocks lined up hot and heavy against each other.

“You are my curse,” Jingim says against Marco’s mouth. “You’ve plagued me since the moment you arrived.”

“It wasn’t my intention. I had this thrust upon me.” Marco's hands sink into Jingim’s hair, trying to work at the twist that holds it up.

“Not your intention,” Jingim echoes, rolling his hips harder into the grind they’ve developed between them. “You entice with your words, provoke with your mind.”

A laugh from the Latin, but it sounds too light, too fake. It hurts Jingim’s ears so he gentles his touch and kiss until the tension bleeds away.

“Does your mind guide your body, Polo?” Jingim drags his mouth along Marco’s jaw to his ear to whisper, “Or is it your heart?”

“You do well with words yourself, my prince,” Marco says, wrapping his arms around Jingim to pull him into another kiss. When they part to breathe, Marco wriggles until there’s room enough for him to reach between them and take both their cocks in hand.

The Latin’s eyes are sparkling. “Your body leads my body.”

Jingim moans his approval and reaches down to help, threading his fingers with Marco’s and carefully squeezing on each upstroke. He breaks away to rearrange them on their sides, pressing in close to find Marco’s mouth again.

He hooks a leg around Jingim’s hip and uses the leverage to keep Jingim against him, keep him thrusting into the tunnel of their shared grip. Jingim’s free hand gropes for Marco’s thigh, digging into the generous flesh, earning a stuttering version of his name in response. As good as it feels, it isn’t quite enough, it makes him want _more_ , and eventually, Jingim has to pull away again.

He takes one of Marco’s hands and licks a stripe across his palm, tasting a bit of themselves and the salt of Marco’s skin. “Touch yourself, Polo. Only yourself.”

Marco does as he is told. Jingim spits into his own hand, reaching between Marco’s legs to smear his salvia wet across an inner thigh. He fits himself into the space there, bringing Marco’s thigh down to close around him, cock nudged up underneath Marco. Jingim gives a tentative thrust, shuddering at the almost too rough friction but enjoying the pressure. He moves slowly, letting their rhythm build again, arm slung just under the curve of Marco’s ass to aid their movements and keep Marco’s legs together.

“If we had the time, I would be inside you,” Jingim says, mouth on Marco’s ear, “I should do so anyway, make my brother wait, and then send you off while you still feel me.”

Marco stutters incoherently, holding himself at the base. He spits into his opposite hand and forces his legs apart in Jingim’s grip, slicking his opposite thigh before clenching tight around Jingim’s cock again. Damn him, but Marco _must_ be a witch, curses and casting spells and reading Jingim’s mind. Seeing Marco ease Jingim’s thrusts makes the air around them even hotter.

“Would you like that, Latin? If I were inside you instead of like this?” Jingim bites down hard on the shell of Marco’s ear, earns a gasp and Marco’s fierce renewed stroking of his cock. “Is that why we fight? You want me to claim you that way?”

Jingim tightens his grip on Marco and rolls them so he is on his back with Marco settled on top. Marco keeps his thighs squeezed together, ankles crossed, hands planted on either side of Jingim for balance. Marco can’t touch himself easily in this new position, and grinds his cock down hard on Jingim’s stomach as Jingim thrusts between his legs.

He imagines having Marco astride his cock, the heat of Marco’s body on him while he’s inside. Jingim reaches to squeeze Marco’s ass and groans when Marco flexes his thighs around him in return. The skin there is so smooth, and Jingim can feel the toned muscles trembling from their exertion.

“My prince,” Marco pants when Jingim locks his arms and doesn’t let Marco get to his cock. “Prince Jingim, please.”

The begging is too much. Jingim spills hot and sudden as Marco rocks on top of him. Trying to catch his breath, Jingim brings his forehead to rest against Marco’s, listening to the Latin’s own labored breathing punctuated by little needy noises.

Slowly, Jingim turns them onto their sides, but doesn’t let Marco move away. He gently strokes down Marco’s back before working a hand between them to touch the mess on Marco’s thighs. Jingim slicks his fingers and, in contrast, grasps Marco’s cock and begins to pump him hard and fast. 

Marco shouts and clutches Jingim in surprise, desperately thrusting into Jingim’s grip. It doesn’t take long before he shudders his release over Jingim’s hand, saying something in a fevered rush that sounds like it could be Italian.

The Latin is the first to pull away, collapsing onto his front and pressing his face into the bed cover. His words are muffled, but Jingim hears, “I should go, my prince. Before Byamba comes searching for me, and finds… us.”

“When you’re able to stand.”

Marco turns to peek at him under the fringe of damp curls and then drags himself closer to Jingim, who surprises himself by pressing a kiss onto the crown of Marco’s head.

Jingim tries not to linger on how intimate that was, despite what they had just done. He sits up and throws his legs over the side of the bed. “Don’t keep anything from me, Polo. Not anymore. Do you understand?”

Marco watches him clean up and dress. He doesn’t say anything until Jingim has mostly composed himself and is readying to leave. “I’ll see you when I return, Prince Jingim.”


End file.
